Falling(10)

“Oh!” he said, and raised his finger. “And next pocket back, you’ll find a metal cylinder. After your FO is dead—but before you crash, obviously”—he smiled—“shake the can, reach behind you, open the cockpit door. Twist the can open, throw it into the cabin. Shut the door, crash the plane, the end.”

Bill blinked numbly at the screen before typing.

What’s in the canister?



“You ask so many questions but none of them matter,” Sam said, and laughed. “I’m not going to tell you what the white powder is for the first officer. And I’m not going to tell you what’s in the canister for the cabin. See, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet because you never ask an interesting question. Like, for example, you could ask: ‘Sam, what do you want me to crash the plane into?’?”

I won’t ask that. I’m not crashing the plane.



“Oh! So that’s your choice?” Sam said, lifting the detonator up. “You choose the plane?”

Carrie clutched Elise tighter. The back of Bill’s neck prickled.

I haven’t chosen anything.



Sam hummed, reading the email. “Well, in this scenario, if you don’t make a choice, you will continue on as planned. Which means landing the plane at JFK. Which is a choice. So…” He adjusted the vest, switching the detonator to the other hand. “If that’s what you—”

Bill began typing furiously.

Fine. What do you want me to crash the plane into?



Sam read the email, a smile spreading across his face. Crossing his arms on the table, he leaned into the camera. “I’m not telling you.”

Watching the man rock back with laughter, Bill could feel his fingernails almost pierce the skin inside his clenched fists.

“God, this is fun,” Sam said. “Look, for now, just keep flying your original flight path. We don’t want to raise suspicions, after all. No one except us is to know what’s going on—remember? I’ll give you more details when you need them. For now, don’t worry about what the target is. Just know at some point the plane will be deviating from its path.”

Bill typed as fast as his fingers could.

This isn’t like driving a car. I can’t change course without creating other problems. Especially if you don’t want anyone to know what’s happening. I don’t have time to explain the aeronautical navigational specifics. Just trust me. I need to know where we’re going.



The captain watched the intruder read the email, praying the man wasn’t also a pilot. What he wrote wasn’t exactly a lie—but it definitely wasn’t fully true. If this guy was a pilot, he’d call bullshit.

Sam blinked a few times, his brow knitting momentarily before he looked into the camera and cleared his throat, clearly stalling.

“I won’t give you the target, but I’ll give you the area,” Sam said finally.

Bill watched Sam take in the array of buttons and knobs that filled the cockpit around him. He’d given enough preflight tours to passengers who knew nothing about flying to know the man was overwhelmed. Sam took a small breath and paused.

“DC.”

Bill’s head drooped. Of course. It made sense. Washington, DC, was close enough to New York that a last-minute deviation would be almost impossible to counter in time. He didn’t need to be told an exact target. It was probably the White House. Maybe the Capitol Building.

“I won’t tell you an exact location just yet,” Sam said. “And I won’t tell you what the mystery powder is either, but I’ll give you a hint. I mean, I do need you alive. So when you twist the canister open before throwing it into the cabin? I’d make sure you’re wearing your oxygen mask.”

A toxic gas, surely. Bill looked out the window at the layers of thin, shifting clouds passing beneath the plane. He envisioned the cabin filling with a similar cloud of… what? He was being asked—no, told—to gas his own plane, his own passengers.

And if I refuse to throw the canister?



Sam read the email, his head tilted to the side while he considered. He looked over to Bill’s family.

“Well, let’s see. I need them alive until the end of the flight. But…” A lock of hair lay across Carrie’s face. Sam tucked it behind her ear. “Maybe I don’t need them all alive? Or in one piece?”

Bill’s knuckles turned white in his grip on the tray table. There was so much he didn’t know, didn’t understand. He wanted to make it stop; he wanted to scream. He could feel the blood rushing to his face. A line of sweat covered his upper lip. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Bill. Relax,” Sam taunted, relishing his visible agitation. “You’re working way too hard to figure out a solution when—spoiler—there isn’t one. So just let that hero shit go. You will make a choice. Your family, or the plane. And if the sacrifice is the plane, throwing the canister is part of the deal. Period.” Sam leaned forward, resting his interlocking fingers on the desk, the detonator clutched in his grip. “And Bill? Just so you know? I’m not an idiot. There is, absolutely, a backup plan right there on board. You will, one way or another, make a choice.”

Bill felt his face go from red to white.